


can make you happy, make your dreams come true

by imdeansgirl



Series: Teen Wolf Bingo [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Enemies to Lovers, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, Mild Language, Parenthood, Pining Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 11:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7437737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imdeansgirl/pseuds/imdeansgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam isn't really sure true love exists. But a run in with a rather strange shop owner pushes him to look a little further in some unexpected places.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>I know you haven't made your mind up yet,</i><br/><i>But I will never do you wrong.</i><br/><i>I've known it from the moment that we met,</i><br/><i>No doubt in my mind where you belong.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	can make you happy, make your dreams come true

**Author's Note:**

> ayyyy okay so this is super cheesy, good luck and god bless making it through. the title and part of the summary are from [make you feel my love by adele.](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/adele/makeyoufeelmylove.html) it's a very cheesy song but if you tell me it doesn't work you're lying. this is for "hands" on my teen wolf bingo card. the shop and the "make happy" in the fic are both based loosely off of r.l. stein's the haunting hour. because of who i am as a person.

At this point, Liam isn’t really sure true love exists.

Sure, it would be nice. If soulmates and destiny really existed, that is. But Liam can be noted as a man of science (or, at least he’s passing chemistry), and things like fate and wishes are not science. So after much trial and error (as Hayden, Cory, and Tracy can attest to), he’s decided that everything is awful and there is no hope for love.

(Okay, yeah. He may be in the throes of a breakup. But still.)

And yeah, sometimes you can pretend. And sometimes, you find someone you may like a little bit more than the average person. Take his older brothers, for example. Isaac found someone and managed to get them to move in with him, despite his Spiderman boxers he wears for good luck and the ridiculous amount of time he spends on his hair and his overenthusiastic love of dogs. And Jordan even got someone to marry him and _move to a different state with him_ , even though he snores and rolls his eyes a lot and does everything by the book.

The feelings he’s having post-breakup with Garrett are hard to describe. He’s almost jealous of his brothers. It’s not like he finally thought this one would stick (and let’s face it, Garrett was kind of an asshole), but he just either wants to skip to the Happily Ever After or find out there’s no one out there for him already. It’s either one or the other, and honestly, he doesn’t feel like putting that much work into waiting for it – especially if it only ends in him adopting fifty cats and becoming a recluse.

So he’s… angry? Melancholy? Definitely confused. Like he said, his feelings are hard to describe. Maybe he wants to know how they did it. Maybe Liam just wants to know how they found that one perfect fish among a sea of other terrible, no good fish.

Or maybe he’s accepted he’ll never find his fish.

And so, in the name of uncertainty, he wallows in his room. And his best friend sits with him, rudely refusing to take part in the wallowing. “Please come with me,” Mason begs, pouting with the puppy dog eyes he likes to think work on Liam. (Please. Liam invented that look.) “So Garrett was a jerk. So what? It’s not like he and Violet will be dominating the whole fair.”

Thunder crackles overhead, reflecting his sour mood. Liam groans into his pillow, cupping his hands over his ears. “Don’t say their names,” he mutters. “And they most definitely will dominate the whole fair.” When he was dating Garrett, he liked to boast that he was dating the most popular boy in school. But as an ex-boyfriend, that’s not really so much of a benefit as it is a downfall. To Liam. “And I’ll be miserable. Do you really want me there if I’m miserable?”

Surprisingly, Mason shrugs. “As long as you’re out of the house,” he replies. “You can’t just stay here with your brothers and their loud, rowdy, drunk friends the whole break.”

Honestly, he’d almost forgotten they were even coming. Isaac has been running around cleaning the whole day, while his boyfriend went to the airport to round up their friends. They had been unusually quiet today, but he had been too caught up in his sorrow to even notice. “Why not,” he murmurs. “At least they’ll provide social interaction.”

Mason actually snorts. “Right,” he says. “Like them drinking and playing Yahtzee is quality social interaction.”

“I never said it was quality,” Liam mutters.

He goes ignored. “Besides,” Mason says. “I’m sure they’ll want to go too. Scott always wants to win Isaac teddy bears, after all – and Stiles used to be king of the dunk tank.”

Ugh. He’d definitely forgotten about Stiles Stilinski. Two years older and never able to let Liam forget it, Stiles has been a presence in Liam’s life almost as long as he can remember. Isaac, Scott, and Stiles – the three amigos of Beacon Hills.

Isaac has always been a terrific older brother, looking out for Liam and his best interests. Scott has been Isaac’s best friend since they were seven and is as kind and gentle now, twelve years later, as the day Liam met him. Especially now that he and Isaac are dating, and Scott’s moved in, he appreciates Scott’s sweet disposition even more.

But Stiles… Stiles has always given him trouble. From day one, when the three of them came across a five-year-old Liam, Stiles promptly kicked sand in his face. Liam cried for hours, Scott reprimanded Stiles, and Isaac got his brother a washcloth. It was only downhill from there.

By the time Stiles graduated, Liam couldn’t say he was sad to see him go. Between pranking him, patronizing him, and plainly ignoring him, Stiles had annoyed Liam almost all of his life.

And at this point, Liam just doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about whether or not Stiles grew as a person, or if he outgrew his gangly, gawky arms, or if his shoulders broadened and hair grew out and acne cleared, or what he’s majoring in or who he’s dating.

“Don’t remind me,” Liam groans. “Stiles Stilinski is truly awful. He is the w–”

“–worst excuse for a human being who’s ever graced Beacon Hills,” Mason drones, as if he’d heard this rant far too often. “I know you hate him, but old hat is old hat. Let it die, start fresh with the dude.”

As if. Liam rolls his eyes and looks to Mason, raising one eyebrow. Mason throws his hands up. “So he played a couple of tricks on you,” he squeaks. “Big whoop!”

Liam sighs and closes his eyes again. He hears Mason mutter something about “crush” and “pulling pigtails.” “What was that?” Liam asks.

“Oh, nothing,” Mason says casually. “Are you in?”

Liam frowns and opens his eyes again. “It looks like it’s going to rain,” he says, his last arguing point.

But Mason fires back quickly. “We’ll bring umbrellas.”

Now, he’s starting to think about how all of his brother’s friends have happily coupled off, meaning that if he’s here, he’ll be even more miserable with all the happy couples around. Plus, if he agrees to go to the fair, he’ll have an excuse to avoid Stiles for at least today. He sighs. “Okay,” he says. “Fine. But you are not leaving me, got it?”

Mason grins and promptly turns on his heel in the direction of the closet. He pushes past an old easel, covered in dust, to wedge it open. Right off the top, he pulls out a black and white letterman jacket and red jeans – two pieces of clothing he’s never actually worn. “Great! It’s gonna be awesome.”

Liam already regrets it.

\--

Once he’s “ready,” meaning his jacket is zipped and his scarf is wrapped around his neck, Mason gives him a once-over and a satisfied pat on the head before leading him down the stairs.

People have already begun to gather, Scott obviously having returned from his first trip to the airport. Boyd and Kira sit on the couch, Kira happily chattering away as Boyd smiles shyly into his beer. Erica sits nearby them on the floor, tapping quickly on her bubblegum pink phone. They all wave and greet them warmly as they pass.

When they reach the kitchen, Isaac sits at the table with a mug of cocoa in hand. Scott is at the stove, trying his best to make traditional Mexican dishes.

Across the table from Isaac is Jordan and Derek. In delight, he throws himself over his older brother’s shoulders like an overly enthusiastic cape. “Hey, little brother,” Jordan says, laughing and reaching back to pat Liam’s hair down. “Missed you.”

It’s been a year since Jordan moved out of state with his husband Derek. Shortly after Isaac turned eighteen, Jordan was offered a sheriff’s position in New Mexico. Which, admittedly, isn’t all too far from Beacon Hills, but felt like a lifetime for siblings as close as theirs. (After all, Jordan had practically raised them; he protected them from their father’s fists, kept them fed and clothed, and even petitioned for and won legal guardianship when he turned eighteen. Their eldest brother was far more of a father than their actual father ever was.)

At first, Jordan refused the job. It was just too far for him, and his boys needed him. But really, nothing was stopping him. Isaac had gotten into a college on a full academic scholarship, and was working to keep up with their daily expenses; Liam was still in high school, working part-time for his college fund and applying for lacrosse scholarships; they would all get shares of their parents’ inheritance once Liam turned eighteen; Derek, a kindergarten teacher, could work from anywhere. So no, nothing was really stopping him. Nothing except himself.

So he took the job. Moved away. Liam and Isaac couldn’t be prouder.

“Missed him?” Isaac asks with a laugh. “You only talk to him every other day.”

Make that every day, including emails and texts messages.

Derek nods in solidarity and Scott laughs. “Leave them be,” Scott admonishes, then leans to Mason and whispers, “Middle child syndrome.”

“Heard that!” Isaac says. Scott sticks out his tongue at Isaac, who grins. Liam rolls his eyes as he unravels himself from around Jordan’s neck. They’re so grossly in love. It’s disgusting.

Mason wanders over towards the stove and takes a sniff. “Wow, Scott, that smells really good,” he says. “What is it?”

“Carne a la tampiqueña,” Scott replies, putting the butterflied steaks on the skillet. “Very popular Mexican dish.” He takes a glance at the clock and frowns. “Let’s just hope I have the time to cook it. I have to leave in about ten minutes.” He glances at Mason, who looks inquisitive. “Airport,” he says, “Danny and Jackson are at the airport. And the others…”

Immediately, Isaac reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “The others should be here any minute,” he says. “According to Lydia, the Jeep is puttering through our neighborhood.”

Oh, God, the Jeep. That big, old, ugly honker that permanently smells like nacho cheese and belongs to the worst person on the planet. Liam shudders at the thought. “Um, Scott,” Liam says, tugging on the edge of his sleeve.

From in front of him, Derek turns and frowns. “I know that voice,” he says. “It’s the ‘I want something pretty please Scott’ voice.”

Liam sticks out his tongue and Derek smirks. As a teacher, his brother-in-law has an unfair advantage of knowing exactly when Liam is up to no good.

Isaac laughs. “To be honest, he’ll probably get whatever it is. Scott’s a sucker.”

Ignoring him, Scott smiles over his shoulder. “What’s up, Liam?” he asks.

“Well, uh, Mason and I wanted to go to – “

Just then, the distinct sound of the door slamming open comes from the living room, and a familiar voice yells, “Honey, I’m home!”

As Liam rolls his eyes, everyone else perks up. Three people in flannels and scarves enter, with armfuls of presents and suitcases. “Hey, guys,” Allison says, smiling. “Nice to see you all.” Everyone choruses their returning hellos.

Meanwhile, Lydia rips off her scarf and blows hair out of her mouth. “We would have been here sooner if it hadn’t been for that stupid Jeep,” she growls. “It broke down twice on our way here. Twice. Someone needs to slash its tires or I’ll do it.”

Shaking her head, Malia says, “Don’t say that too loud, Lyds. He’ll hear and – “

“DECK THE HALLS WITH BOUGHS OF HOLLY!”

The shout came from the other room. Everyone just looks at each other, and Liam insists with his eyes that anyone who breaks the silence will be his enemy upon their abysmal betrayal. After a few more moments of silence, it’s Mason that speaks up and sings, almost as a question, “Fa la la la la, la la la… la?”

Almost instantly, a gangly ball of arms, legs, and flannels throws itself around the corner and over Allison and Malia’s shoulders. “Isaac’s here, and so is Scotty!” he yells, almost off-tune to Deck the Halls. “Fa la la la la… la la, la, la!”

Almost everyone claps. Liam glares at Mason, who chooses to ignore him.

Stiles steps back, as infuriating as ever, with his flannel and his khakis and – how could Liam forget about the sweatshirt? Stiles wears the same freaking MIT sweatshirt everywhere, even though he doesn’t actually go to MIT. It’s annoying as hell.

“Thank you, thank you,” Stiles says, bowing. “I try, I really do.” He grins and squeezes past the three girls to hug Isaac, who grins and stands to meet him. “What’s up, man?”

Through the muffling bunch of fabric, Isaac says, “Not much.”

Stiles claps him on the back and goes to hug Scott. Then he rounds the island and shakes Jordan and Derek’s hands. “Hey, guys.” He turns to Mason and nods. “Mason.”

Then finally, he turns to Liam, grins, and has the nerve to say, “’Sup, Liam?”

‘‘Sup, Liam?’ Is that all he has to say? Liam decides not to reply.

As Allison and Isaac begin to chatter, Scott turns again from his dish. “So, Liam, what’d you want?” he asks, smiling again.

Both Liam and Mason shuffle forward, making the conversation a little more private. “Well, uh, we wanted to go to the Winter Carnival, and we were wondering if you would take us?”

Scott frowns suddenly. “Oh, I’m sorry, guys,” he says. “I have to pick up Danny and Jackson, then finish cooking dinner, not to mention desert – “

“What’re we talking about?” Stiles asks, throwing his arm around Scott’s shoulders.

Liam rolls his eyes and snaps, “Just how rude it is to intrude on other people’s conversations.”

Everyone ignores him. “They wanted to go to the Winter Carnival,” Scott says. “But I don’t have the time or the energy to get them there.”

Stiles looks from Mason to Liam, then says, “Well, I can take them.”

No. Oh, God no. Oh no, no, no, no. There is no way Liam is getting in the nacho brigade car with the cheesehead king and going to a stupid carnival he doesn’t even want to go to. But before Liam can vocalize his angry interjections, Mason says, “Oh, would you? We would be super grateful, man.”

Scott frowns. “Are you sure?” he asks. “You would have to go and stay to bring them home, and make sure they don’t get any trouble.”

Stiles throws up his hands. “Of course I’m sure. Who is the best person you know at getting into trouble?”

Blinking, Scott guesses, “You?”

“Yes, me! Me. So who better to keep two young men out of trouble?” Stiles rounds the two boys and throws his arms over their shoulders. Liam tries very hard to shrug it off – the arm stays firmly and annoyingly in place. “Besides, I’ll take my homework and sit in the parking lot. Liam has my number if they get in trouble. They won’t even know I’m there.”

 _We can only hope,_ he thinks.

Eventually, Stiles wins Scott over. He dangles his keys and Mason happily follows him out. Liam glares and Isaac shrugs. “Have fun,” he says, waving.

“Thanks, Mom,” Liam mutters.

“Don’t do drugs! Stay in school!” Jordan pipes in.

Liam grins. “Thanks, Dad,” he says, before following Mason out the door.

The Jeep is just as big, clunking, and ugly as he remembers. The blue paint is chipped and old, and the tires sag under its weight. He so doesn’t want to get inside.

As he goes to climb in the back, Mason shakes his head. “No, Li, it’s okay,” he says. “You hop up front.” Liam glares and his best friend winks.

“So,” Stiles says, as he turns on the car. “I am in charge of the driving. Liam, you are in charge of the radio. And Mason, you just be in charge of being awesome.”

What is that supposed to mean? Like Liam can’t be awesome? It’s like Stiles goes out of his way to say stupid shit. Liam grumbles and goes to turn on the radio.

The twelve-minute ride to the fair is tense and silent. Or rather, Liam is tense and silent. Mason and Stiles are all the sudden buddy-buddy, Mason laughing in the back seat as Stiles does some stupid impression or something. The music, some punk that Liam mindlessly turned on, drones on in the background.

Finally, the Jeep creeks to a stop outside of the fair. There are tents everywhere, kids talking and laughing, food carts milling around. It’s a bright swirl of colors, sounds, and smells, and Liam would be so happy to go if he didn’t know his asshole ex-boyfriend was lurking about. “Alright, kids,” Stiles says, shifting into park. “Have fun and be safe.”

“Yeah, thanks, Stiles,” Mason says brightly.

“Thanks,” Liam mutters, clicking open his seatbelt.

“Wait, wait. Liam, can you just… hang around for a second?”

In the rearview mirror, Mason gives Liam a wide-eyed glance. But Liam just rolls his eyes. So Mason opens the car door and climbs out. “I’ll meet you by the hot dogs, Li,” he says, before shutting the door behind him.

Never mind that Liam doesn’t know where the hot dogs are. Never mind that Mason promised not to leave him. Never mind that he doesn’t want to spend a second longer with Stiles than he has to. He sighs. “What do you want, Stiles?”

Eventually, he braves a look over at the other boy. Stiles is straight-faced, his lips drawn in a tight line and his gaze focused solely on the carnival. Liam lets his eyes drop a little. Stiles’ hands are locked onto the steering wheel, his knuckles going white with the grip. The sleeves of the MIT hoodie are bunched up in his hands, too. He would almost be concerned if he wasn’t sure that this was some stupid prank.

Stiles swallows. “Well, um…” He sighs, lifts one of his hands off the steering wheel and runs it through his hair. “See, the thing is, I, um. There’s not a really delicate way to go about this.”

At this rate, Liam will get old, shrivel up, and die before he gets to see the Winter Carnival. “Come on, Stiles,” he says, frowning. “Spit it out.”

“Liam, I’m gay.”

Something shifts. Like a lead weight in his stomach suddenly appeared. Although he’s unsure why Stiles is coming out to him, of all people, he knows it changes something. But it’s still Stiles. Stiles, who kicked sand in his face; Stiles, who laughed at his Halloween costumes; Stiles, who teased him mercilessly and with no compassion. Even though it feels like a world of change, this doesn’t make a bit of a difference.

But all he can say is, “Oh.”

Stiles nods. “I hope that explains, um… some of my asshole tendencies.”

Liam blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You know.” Liam does not know. “Like, I hope that explains to you why I’ve been… such a dick.”

Explains it? Suddenly, anger bubbles in his stomach. “Are you saying,” he says, slowly, “that you’ve been a terrible person… because you’re gay?”

Squirming in his seat, Stiles says, “Well, um, no. I just hope that has specific meaning… to you.”

He can barely hear it; the blood is rushing in his ears. This is almost worse than that time he defaced a teacher’s car. He’s very rarely been in such a blind rage before. “Isaac’s gay, and he’s not an asshole,” Liam says, a little heated. 

Stiles frowns. “Uh, yeah, I – ”

But there’s no possible explanation that could make this go away. “I’m bi, and I’m not an asshole. Or at least I try my best not to be. You know, being queer doesn’t give you an excuse to be a dick.”

The boy next to him just blinks, looking completely taken aback. Liam’s never lashed out this way before. “But, that wasn’t – ”

“You’ve tortured me all my life, you know that? It’s been a long, long twelve years that I have put up with every prank, every comment, and every joke at my expense.” Liam glares and Stiles has the audacity to look hurt. “All my life. And being gay is not a good excuse.”

With that, he opens up the door, climbs out of the Jeep, and slams it shut behind him. He’s about to make his dramatic entrance into the fair when he sees it.

Garrett and Violet. Kissing. In front of the fishing game.

Behind him, Stiles must notice him freeze mid-step, because he hears the distinct whir of a window being rolled down, and Stiles calls, “Liam? What’s wrong?”

Suddenly, Garrett breaks the kiss, and they turn to Liam. Slowly, maliciously, he raises his eyebrows and grins. “Yeah, Liam,” Garrett says, sneering. “What’s wrong? Go on and tell Daddy your problems – which one is that, by the way? Number four or five?” Violet hits him on the chest. Garrett laughs and pulls her into another kiss.

Liam feels his world begin to crumble.

Mason is gone, Garrett is kissing Violet, and Stiles Stilinski is watching Liam’s life break into tiny little pieces and fall apart before him from the driver’s seat of a beat up old Jeep. And he’s probably enjoying it too, the sick bastard. With one last look at Stiles, who eyes are oozing pity, he makes a run for it before he can do something embarrassing. Like cry.

Liam runs through the carnival and sees Mason, leaning at a kissing booth and talking to a boy with curly hair and wide shoulders. Liam swallows and taps him on the shoulder.

Mason turns and smiles. “Hey, Li!” he says. “This is – ”

“I wanna go home,” Liam says.

His best friend blinks in surprise, taken aback. “Whoa, you look pale,” he says, frowning. “You okay?”

He thinks of Garrett and Violet and Stiles. Liam shakes his head again. “I want _to go home._ ”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation where Mason looks between Liam and the boy – who Liam now recognizes as Brett Talbot. He’s in their year, very handsome, and Liam would never forgive himself if he stopped Mason from talking to him. “Well,” Mason says slowly, “I guess we could…”

“No, it’s okay,” Liam says quickly. “It’s fine. I’ll just get Stiles to take me or something.”

For a split second, Mason looks hopeful. And then quickly back to concerned. “Are you sure?” he asks.

Looking from Mason to Brett, Liam shakes his head. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll go.” He smiles briefly before tearing back off in the other direction, past the various booths and out the carnival entrance. When he passes Stiles, the window rolls down again. “Liam!” he calls. “Wait! Where are you going?!”

But he doesn’t stop. He runs down the street, passing houses and shops as he goes. Overhead, the thunder is crackling. He closes his eyes and hopes that it’s just a thunderstorm and not the beginnings of a flood.

When he gets about five minutes in, only about fifteen minutes away from his house when walking, he feels a drop. And then a downpour.

He groans and pulls into the nearest shop, called “Deaton’s House of Wonderment.”

The lights are on, so he calls out, “Hello?” No one answers, and he doesn’t really expect them to. The place looks practically abandoned, besides the operating lights. There are plants everywhere, most of them dead or decaying. In between the rather odd amount of various houseplants, there’s a few items that seem for sale. A large dresser with a pair of crooked handles; a red, extravagant dress with a slit in the side; an old pair of glasses that are cracked in one lens. Not only are some of the items barely purchasable, but they also don’t follow any given theme. No one would need all of the odds and ends that he sees just from standing on the front mat.

“Hello.”

The sudden noise makes Liam jump. From out of what seems like thin air, a man has appeared. He’s tall, a least taller than Liam, with at least three inches of a difference. His skin is dark and eyes even darker, and he has a full smile and a kind look to him.

Liam struggles to find his words. “Uh… hi,” he says, then he smiles nervously. “Sorry to trouble you, but I was on my way home when it started pouring, so I kind of took refuge in the nearest shop.”

The man smiles and nods. “Well, you’re welcome to stay here,” he says warmly. “And not to pry, but you’re the one who looks troubled.”

He looks down at himself. Mud on his shoes from running through the carnival, soaking wet jacket and scarf. He guesses if he’s a mess, at least he looks the part. “Yeah, sorry,” he says again. “It’s been a bit of a rough night.”

Smiling, the man gestures to two seats that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. “Care to share?” he asks.

Blinking, Liam tries to think of reasons not to tell the strange man his life story. Well, Jordan did always say not to trust strangers. But something in his gut tells him to sit down with the man, so he does, taking a seat in the chair closest to the door. _Well,_ he thinks, _it certainly can’t get any weirder._

Almost as if on cue, the man reaches back behind a large counter and pulls out two cups of tea. Liam raises an eyebrow. “Are you a witch, or a stalker?" he asks.

The man laughs, and Liam swears his eyes twinkle like Santa Claus or something. “Well-prepared,” he answers and slides a cup across the table to Liam. “So. Tell me what happened.”

Where to begin? So Liam says, “Well, in short: everything went to shit.” The man snorts, taking a drink of his own cup. “I just broke up with my asshole of an ex-boyfriend last week. So my best friend tells me I’m moping, and I should go to the stupid winter carnival. This kid – an older kid, my brother’s best friend – volunteers to drive us there. And he kind of drives me crazy. So he drives us there, and he asks me to hang behind. So my best friend goes ahead without me, and the guy – Stiles – tells me that he’s gay and that is why he’s been an asshole to me for, like, a decade. Which just made me mad. So I get out of the car and I see my ex-boyfriend making out with his new girlfriend which, hello, humiliating, and Stiles is watching the whole thing, which makes it even worse. And then I got here.”

Having been a very good listener thus far, Liam decides to listen to what the man has to say. He hums. “Interesting,” he says. “Why do you care what Stiles thinks of you?”

Liam blinks, dumbly, and asks, “What?”

“Well, you said that it was made worse by Stiles being there,” he says. “Which means his opinion of you has some sort of value. And if he, quote, ‘drives you up a wall,’ why would you care what he thinks?”

What an interesting question. He didn’t even realize he’d phrased it that way. “It’s not like that,” Liam says, shaking his head. “I just meant that he’d hold it against me for all time. He likes to tease me and stuff.”

He nods. “Ah,” the man says. “So when he saw you being humiliated by your ex-boyfriend, he said something ill-mannered.”

Trying to think back, Liam slowly shakes his head. “No,” he says. “No, Stiles asked me if everything was alright.”

There’s a pause for a moment, then Deaton says, “Well then surely he didn’t care when you ran past him and began to go home on your own.”

Liam frowns. “No,” he says. “He called out to me. Tried to stop me, asked me where I was going.”

“Oh.” The man matches his frown and asks, “Liam. Could it be that perhaps you’re looking for a child in a man who’s changed and grown?”

“Stiles? Changed and grown?”

Shrugging, the man says, “Well, think about it. He volunteered to drive you to a fair. He trusted you with fragile information, even though he didn’t need to. He asked you if you were okay, asked you where you were going. If you ask me, he sounds like someone who cares about you an awful lot.”

That is everything he said… Truth be told, he’d never thought about it that way. “You really think a person can change?” he asks, his voice low. His father managed to have three kids and never change a bit.

The man smiles warmly. “I know a person can change,” he says. “Even when it seems as if they never will.” He clears his throat and stands, then pushes in his chair. “Perhaps you should give Stiles another chance. Maybe look at him in a different light.”

Thunder booms outside, and Liam wonders how on Earth he could look at Stiles differently. “I don’t know,” Liam murmurs, shaking his head. “I wish I could just skip ahead, man. Skip the mess and go right to the Happily Ever After. Or just know that I’m not gonna get one.”

He hears chuckling and looks up to see the man smiling at him. “Something tells me you’ll get your day, Liam. But where’s the fun in not working for it?” he asks. “Happily Ever After can’t just be handed to you.” He looks out the window and frowns again. “Sometimes you have to face the rain to see the rainbow.”

Liam looks too and watches as the rain pitter patters down on the sidewalk. They pause for a moment before the man sighs. “Anyway, you can’t do much about anything right now. Feel free to take a look around,” he says. “If you need me, just call for Deaton.”

He takes a quick scan and then turns to thank him, but Deaton is gone.

Doing what he’s told, he stands and begins to take a look around. There are books on shelves, along with knickknacks, tchotchkes, and various bottles filled with different ingredients. (Each one has a ridiculous tag that says something like “wolfsbane,” or “kanima venom,” or something else nonsensical that makes Liam smile.) There are also many other miscellaneous items with price tags on them; a cute music box, a statue of an angel, a pair of old dolls. Once he’s sure he’s explored almost every inch of the room, something shiny catches his eyes.

Behind a door is an eerie purple glow with a golden fog in an otherwise completely dark abyss. The door is only cracked open, so he can’t really see much, but something about it is calling to him. “Deaton!” he calls. “Any reason for me not to go behind this door?”

There’s no answer. He looks left and then right before creeping forward towards the door, slowly but surely attempting to reach the purple and golden light.

The door groans as it opens, and Liam winces. But when there’s no pounding of footsteps or yelling, he pushes it open all the way. Behind it, he sees the source of the radiance; a purple sphere with a golden tinge sits on a tiny table, and a chair sits next to it. He reaches up and feels the wall for a light switch, but there isn’t one there. The room he just came from, he decides, lights the way well-enough. So he looks the sphere over and when he sees a tag, picks it up to read it.

“‘I am the Make Happy,’ he reads aloud, squinting at the slightly sloppy cursive. “‘I show you the future – where all the hurt and the pain is over. Skip to your very own Happily Ever After.’” He scoffs a little at the word choice, the words bitter in his own mouth. “To begin, sit in the chair, and then place your hands on me.’”

Liam frowns at the tag, then the chair. He almost doesn’t (because even if the round ball is a so-called “Make Happy,” as previously stated, Liam is a man of science, and men of science don’t believe in soulmates, destiny, fate, wishes, true love, or magic), but then quickly realizes he really has nothing better to do while he waits out the storm. “Why not,” he murmurs, before sitting in the tiny wicker chair. The loose wood pokes him in the back, but as he squirms in his seat to get a comfortable position, he begins to fall forward. He puts his hands out to brace himself and somehow comes in direct contact with the glowing ball.

A flash of lightning and crack of thunder coincides with a sharp feeling of pain in his right hand. He yelps and quickly pulls it back, only to find a large, angry red cut from the top of his palm to the base. Meanwhile, the sphere fades from purple to blue and then to a vibrant pink. He winces at his hand, then glances back at the sphere. Against his better judgment, he throws his hand back down.

The colors begin to flash, quickly and aggressively. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, white. With each color, he finds himself get woozier and woozier. As he falls closer and closer to sleep, he struggles to remind himself that this can’t possibly be happening. There are no such things as magic balls that tell the future, and putting his hands on said “magic ball” cannot possibly knock him out or show him things ahead of his time.

It’s in that state between passed out and awake that he realizes he never even told Deaton his name. How could he have addressed him?

It’s all quite impossible. But the world goes dark anyway.

\--

Waking up is painful. Literally – his neck, back, and head all ache. He slowly raises his head, well-aware of the crick in his neck, and blinks. No wonder his neck hurts – he fell asleep at a desk. Or did he? The last thing he remembers is being humiliated at the carnival. And then the weird shop. What happened? Did the shop owner drug him? Is he lurking, waiting for him to wake up?

But… this doesn’t look like the kind of place you get taken when you’re drugged. Besides, Deaton didn’t seem ready to strike. He looked more friendly than evil.

So what did he do? He must’ve gotten blackout drunk with Mason. But he can’t tell where he’s woken up. It doesn’t seem like the kind of place you get taken when you’re drugged, but it’s still a weird place to wake up in. It’s a big sunroom; the whole ceiling is a skylight, rounded with a point in a clear cone. There are panes there too, ones that match the paint, ivory, of the rest of the rounded room. Along the walls are paintings – some of people, some of landscapes – all in the same style. There’s some on the floor as well, leaning up against the furniture or standing tall in easels. One section of wall is left untouched, aside from the big bay window that leads out onto a balcony and overlooks a large backyard. In the middle of the circular room is the desk he’s sitting at, where there’s a half-finished painting and an artist’s palette.

He takes a moment to look down at himself. His hands and the overalls he’s wearing are covered in paint splotches, the colors very similar to the ones on the canvas. So he got drunk, broke into someone’s house, and painted? He hasn’t painted in years – not since he took up lacrosse. People were more interested in his athletic prowess than his painting ability, so he put down his paint brush for a lacrosse stick and hasn’t painted anything since.

But when he looks at the painting, it isn’t bad. It’s kind of a face – or at least the base of one. The background is purple and gold, shimmering behind the beginnings of the pale face. The only other dark color so far is a deep chestnut for the eyes.

Liam must’ve been upset about Stiles and begun to paint him last night. He sighs and looks away, not wanting to look at or think about him again. Just as he does, though, there’s a knock at the door.

“Babe?” someone calls, from behind the dark brown door. “You in there?”

He freezes. This is not his house. He doesn’t belong here. How could he ever explain this in a way that won’t get him shot or arrested? As his mind continues to race through thoughts and freeze on plans, the door opens.

Stiles is behind it.

Well, kind of. It’s Stiles, but different. He’s so much older. His hair is cropped close, with gray forming at the temples, and his face is tanner. There are even more freckles and laugh lines on his face than there were before. And he’s taller. And his attire is odd – instead of a flannel and jeans and a pair of sneakers, Stiles is wearing a dress shirt, nicely pressed pants, and shiny brown shoes. All that along with a tie, which Liam would have thought was impossible. He knows for a fact that Stiles went to his own prom in a tuxedo t-shirt and sneakers. He looks professional.

Somehow, in the span of an evening, he’s aged many years. That’s something Liam thought was impossible.

Though he’s unsure what exactly he expects, he knows it isn’t a big smile. “Hey, baby,” Stiles says. Liam just blinks. “Did you fall asleep here last night?”

Is he talking to Liam? Is this an out of body experience? Did he somehow accidentally swap lives with someone? Eventually, it becomes clear that Stiles is waiting for an answer. So Liam nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Guess so.”

Liam has lived with himself for seventeen years, and that was not his voice. Even when rough with sleep and disuse, Liam’s voice has never once been that deep. He takes another look at his hands – they look the same, almost, at least enough to fool him upon first glance. But now he sees that they’re more rough and calloused, even stained with purple and gold. He quickly turns to his palm and is surprised to see there’s no cut – not even a scar.

From the doorway, where Liam had forgotten him, Stiles hums. “Figured this was where you were when you didn’t come to bed last night,” he says. Liam looks up at him and frowns, but Stiles just grins. “Go ahead and wash up. I’ve put a change of clothes in the bathroom already. Breakfast is on the stove, so it’ll be done when you come down.”

“You cook?” he blurts. Honestly, out of all of the things that just happened in the last three minutes, this should not be the most surprising. It’s just that… he would never have considered Stiles as the cooking type.

In mock hurt, Stiles pouts and throws his hand over his heart. “Li. You kill me.” Then he grins again, turns on his heel, and goes down the stairs

Li? No one but Mason calls him that. Well, Garrett used to, but… He frowns and follows suit out of the room.

Stiles had told him to go wash up. But there’s a problem in that he doesn’t know exactly where the bathroom is. So he tries each door, running into a closet before he finds it. The bathroom is big, bright, and lilac, with a deep bathtub and a walk-in shower. It’s just like he’s always wanted – complete with the floor-length mirror.

When he looks into it, his heart drops into his stomach. It’s like looking at a stranger. It’s still him; he’s still himself, with blue eyes and sandy hair and tan skin. (And he’s short. Not as short, but short.) But he’s… older. The softened edges of his jaw are gone, the young fullness of his face has disappeared; there’s even a light hint of stubble across his chin. He must be in his thirties.

Which begs the question: what caused him to miss almost twenty years of his life?

The clothes are sitting on the toilet, folded up neatly. He pulls off the heavily-stained overalls and white t-shirt. Then he picks up the jeans Stiles apparently left him, pulls them on rather ungracefully, though he manages not to knock anything over. Then a black t-shirt and a sweater, seemingly hand-knitted. He washes up numbly, rinses his hands and brushes his teeth (there are two toothbrushes, so he picks the blue one, his favorite color, and hopes for the best), and wonders idly if he should shave before deciding against it and heading downstairs.

After seeing Stiles and then himself, he doesn’t think it could get possibly any weirder. That is until he reaches the bottom of the stairs and a glint catches his eye. Quickly, he brings his hand up to his face and blinks at what he finds there.

If the golden band on his left hand is any indication, in the future, Liam is married.

To Stiles?

How could that happen? How could he possibly go from hating Stiles to marrying him? Was it some kind of bet gone wrong? And – he spins in a circle to try to better take in his surroundings. And why did he move into this strange house?

Where’s Isaac? Scott? Jordan and Derek? Mason? Hell, at this point, he’d take Garrett. His entire life has disappeared before his eyes. And it all has something to do with putting his hands on the ball from the shop. He remembers Deaton saying that he’d have to “face the rain to see the rainbow.” But he doesn’t know what that means. He was doing fine – well, mostly fine. If almost breaking down in front of an entire carnival and then running to hide from his ex was an indication of ‘fine.’ Or getting into a blind rage over some stupid comment Stiles said. Or holding a grudge over stupid stuff someone did when they were kids. He sighs and scrubs at his hands with the palms of his eyes.

Suddenly, his thoughts are interrupted by a thump to each leg.

In a seventeen-year-old's body, he might’ve fallen over. But as he is now, he just looks down to find two children, one girl, and one boy. They both smile up at him, and for a long moment, he wonders who they are.

Then the girl frowns and says, “Daddy. Up.” And he then realizes that these must be his children.

Suddenly, Stiles swoops in from the other room, whooping and cheering. The little boy on Liam’s right squeals and Stiles reaches down and lifts him to sit on his hip. Liam looks down at the girl, who looks at him expectantly. “Aw, don’t mind Daddy, kids,” Stiles says, reaching down to tug on one of the girl’s dark brown pigtails. “He fell asleep in his office last night and now he’s all grumpy.

The boy pouts, his curly brown hair falling into his blue eyes. Those eyes look familiar.

They’re his eyes.

He knows instinctively that this is his child. Those are his eyes, his brows, and his upturned nose. He’s brought out of his thoughts by the girl blowing a loud raspberry. “I wanna play, Daddy,” she says and lifts her arms.

Though he feels unsure, after a moment’s hesitation, he reaches down and hooks his hands under the arms of her frilly blue dress. When he lifts her, it feels robotic and forced. But once she’s sitting on his hip and her arms fall around his neck, it’s almost natural. Like this body is used to doing this. She nuzzles into his neck and sighs. Like this is home.

As she sits there, he examines her. She has brown eyes and a button nose and freckles. Everything about her screams Stiles.

“Well, you’ll get your chance to play with Daddy,” Stiles assures her, nodding. “Papa has to go to work.” Both children whine. “But Daddy doesn’t have a show today. So, he gets to hang out with you all day.”

A show? What does he mean, a show? He notices, belatedly, that they’re all staring at him expectantly. “Looks like you’re stuck with me,” he jokes weakly. Both children cheer and Stiles grins. If only they knew how little he was joking. The four of them head toward the kitchen, Stiles holding the boy above his head and making airplane noises, and the girl grumbling sleepily into Liam’s neck. Upon entering the kitchen, Stiles plops the boy down onto a purple chair, just high enough that he can reach the island. Liam follows suit and puts the girl into the green chair sitting next to it.

(You can tell that Liam lives here, because of the little personal touches and preferences. There’s an island in the middle of the kitchen, lined with bar stools and one chair for each child, for example. There’s art done by the kids hanging on the fridge. These are all things he imagined in his house once he got older.)

While Stiles shuffles towards the stove, Liam hovers unsurely. What if they have a special ritual before breakfast that he doesn’t know how to do?

Then he closes his eyes and asks himself, _What would I do?_

Because he’s still himself, theoretically. And maybe he’s the key to getting through this whole ordeal. So he sits across the island from the two children, reaches into a drawer by his side, and begins to set the table. He gives the children bright, colorful thick ones he assumes are reserved for them, and then puts silverware out for himself and Stiles. As he begins to serve breakfast (which happens to be Liam’s favorite, eggs over easy with bacon and buttered toast), he grins at Liam and winks. Liam can’t help but stare blankly. Usually, when Stiles winks at him, it’s after a dirty joke or an obnoxious prank. This one was different. It felt warm, almost. Tender. Oddly intimate.

Liam always imagined a domestic life for himself. But he never pictured it with Stiles. In fact, he never pictured Stiles in any sort of future at all. Stiles with kids, Stiles with breakfast, Stiles with a wedding ring. These are all things he never pictured, never even thought Stiles capable of. And now he gets the chance to share it with him.

A wave of embarrassment and shock shoots through him at the warmness of the thought. Stiles isn’t someone he would ever want to share his life with. Stiles isn’t someone he should ever want to share his life with. He looks away.

“Well, kids,” Stiles sighs as he sits down. “As you know, Papa has to go to work today, so Daddy gets to play with you.”

Both children smile, big and bright, but Liam’s mind is too busy working overdrive to even realize. How’s he supposed to deal with children? He’s still a child himself. He doesn’t even know their names. And, oh God, what if Stiles named them? What if he named them something stupid, like The Doctor and Harry Potter? Or Katniss and Chewbacca? (And yes, he finally knows what that means; after years of taunting, he finally sat down and watched Star Wars all the way through. Though he would never admit it to Stiles, it actually wasn’t that bad.) And then on top of all that – Stiles works? What does he do?

“However,” Stiles continues, buttering his toast, “your uncles, aunts, and cousins are dropping by today, so be good and play when the grownups have to talk.” Liam wonders who on earth could be dropping by, and what will they have to talk about?

The little girl smiles. “Don’t worry, Papa,” she says. “We’ll be good.” The little boy nods solemnly.

Stiles scoffs. “Twins,” he says to Liam.

Twins? Are they twins? He supposes it makes sense – they look the same age, after all; no more than four. It’s just, he never imagined twins of any sort in his future. He swallows. How is he dealing with twins?

It’s then that Liam realizes that they’re all looking at him again, this time oddly, and remembers that he’s supposed to eat. In a panic, he shoves a full piece of bacon into his mouth and smiles. After a moment, everyone bursts into laughter. “Classic Li,” Stiles murmurs, smiling warmly and looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Liam feels… uncomfortably comfortable, in that moment.

When did he fall for Stiles Stilinski?

\--

Shortly after breakfast, Stiles announces he has to get going, “Braeden's gonna have my ass if I’m late again,” he mutters, slinging a satchel over his shoulder. He kisses each twin on the temple, then rounds the table for Liam.

And kisses him.

It’s not like it’s Liam’s first kiss. And in this weird, alternate reality, it’s just one of many. But for Liam – the real, normal Liam, the seventeen-year-old trapped inside of the thirty-year-old’s body – it’s his first kiss with Stiles. Ever. And he doesn’t seem to hate it.

He pulls back, his face screwed up. Stiles looks unfairly concerned, so he rushes to come up with an explanation. “Coffee breath,” he murmurs, and Stiles laughs.

“Fair enough,” he agrees, stepping back. “I’ll be back later after work, minty fresh.”

Liam smiles and nods, like that’s okay by him when it’s really not. He wonders, briefly, if he should just leave before Stiles gets home.

But something in him tells him he owes it to his future self (or, at the very least, his weird dream self or alternate reality self) to stick around for a while. Stiles leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. The twins stare at Liam expectantly. Liam can only stare back. Eventually, the little girl gives up on the staring contest and rolls her big brown eyes. “Daddy,” she says. “We wanna play.”

Oh. Right. He sighs and stands, watching as the kids climb down from their own chairs and stand near him. The little boy raises his arms and the little girl tugs on his hand. With a groan, he picks the boy up much like he did the girl, and allows the girl to lead him upstairs.

The room she takes him to is just off his office, with a room adjoining them. It’s small, painted blue, with little clouds and stars painted everywhere. Two of the four walls are bare; one wall, to the left, seems to be dedicated to almost every piece of art the twins have ever made. Drawings of dogs, houses, suns, and the family of four line the wall, each with a name penned messily at the bottom. The same wall is decorated in tiny handprints – little hands, dipped in yellow and white against the dark blue base paint, meant to mimic the tiny, perfectly painted stars on the other walls. There’s also hand-done height charts for both twins, done in black permanent marker, with tape measurers laying underneath them.

On the adjacent wall, the one opposite the door they’d just entered from that leads out into the hall, is a vibrant portrait of both twins, standing back to back. Both have on different outfits – the boy, a purple pair of suspenders over a blue colored shirt; the girl, a green dress. Both are barefoot, each holding a dandelion in one hand. Their other hands are joined between them, holding on tightly.

Liam painted this. He knows he did. He can imagine the brushes he used, the strokes of the paint he put down. A weird swell of pride engulfs him the moment he sees it. Maybe he could make it as an artist after all.

As soon as they enter the room, the girl trails off, the little boy silently asking to be put down to join her. Liam nods and lets him go, and soon, they forget all about him. They’re both engrossed, instead, in a game of pirates, playing with the various toys scattered across the floor in between the pristine furniture.

The twins are busy with each other, so Liam takes it a sign to wonder. The room next to the playroom is the bathroom, where he wandered into earlier. To the right, the end of the hall, is his office – the rounded room he woke up in earlier. There're two more doors across the hall, and another at the other end.

He goes to the ones across the hall, the right one first. The walls are a bright blue, with green grass and long sunflowers painted along the bases. All the way to the right, there’s a large sun painted on the ceiling and a mobile of clouds above the bed, and a story told in pictures. On the wall, over the bed, there’s a picture of the girl, his daughter. Onto the next wall and the next, is a story, told from left to right. The beginning, on the wall to the left, is a picture of what he can only assume was the day she was born. The baby is wrapped up in a pink blanket, the hospital bracelet huge around her tiny wrist. Stiles – an older Stiles than the one he knows, but younger than the one he saw this morning – holds her, beaming down at her. His own face beams at the camera. And underneath the picture, in his own cursive writing, is _Claudia_.

He shuffles forward and runs his hand over the writing, done in orange paint. “Claudia,” he murmurs, before blinking and sprinting out to the hallway, going into the room next door.

This room is a dusky orange. Instead of sunflowers and bright green grass, along the bases is tall, forest green grass and the silhouettes of jungle animals. A lion, an elephant, a giraffe. He follows the same path of pictures of the boy’s life, in the same setup as Claudia’s. The beginning is a picture of the same day as before. This time, Liam holds the child, and Stiles has his face burrowed in Liam’s neck. They both look like they’ve been crying.

Underneath the picture, in the chicken scratch writing he recognizes as Stiles’, there is a name: _Jordan_.

In shock, he stumbles forward and traces his hand over the letters. “Jordan,” he says. “Jordan.” He leans his head up against the wall, only to find it cold. He swallows. “Jordan.”

“Yeah, Daddy?”

The tiny voice startles him. He jumps back and looks to the door. The boy – Jordan – blinks up at him, a superhero figure in one hand.

“Jordan,” Liam says, blinking. “Your name is Jordan.”

Jordan nods, as if Liam isn't suddenly talking crazy, and walks forward to something behind Liam. He turns to see a bookcase, stocked full with children’s books. Jordan picks one out, then grabs Liam by the hand and frowns. Liam assumes this to mean back to the playroom. So he goes with him to the other room, where Claudia is still sitting on the floor, playing with the pirate ship. Jordan leads Liam to the rocking chair, tucked neatly away in the corner. He allows him to sit down before climbing up onto his lap and handing him the book.

Liam looks from book to child. Jordan, who’s hugging the Wonder Woman figure to his chest, just smiles at him. Liam clears his throat and moves to open the book when he thinks better of it. “Jordan,” he whispers, and the little boy nods with wide eyes. “Why don’t you invite your sister to come read with us?” He and Jordan look over to where Claudia is sitting on the floor, playing with Captain America and a pirate ship. He smiles, despite himself. “She looks awfully lonely over there, doesn’t she?”

Jordan bites his lip, then smiles. “Laudie,” he says, and she looks up. “Come read with me and Daddy.”

Claudia smiles too, then stands and waddles over and pulls herself up onto Liam’s lap. She snuggles into him and Jordan hugs his action figure tighter. “Read it now, Daddy?” he says, and Liam can’t say no.

So he opens it up and begins, to one of his personal favorites as a child. “There once was a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning, he was really splendid.”

\--

After spending the entire morning reading and playing and talking, the twins (well, Claudia, really) very clearly let Liam know that they were hungry. “'m starving,” Claudia groaned, laying on the floor.

So Liam… made them lunch.

Which is really, apparently, as simple as it sounds. Even if you haven't been near toddlers (or, in Liam's case, been a toddler) in a very long time. There are chicken nuggets in the refrigerator, alongside some pre-cut fruit. Besides putting them in the microwave and making sure the amount of fruit was equal for each twin, it was almost no trouble. He gives them chicken nuggets, fruit, and glasses of water. They both thank him, rather politely, before digging in.

As almost an afterthought, he digs out what seems like a pre-made salad and helps himself to it. Taking care of two small children surprisingly made him hungry.

By the time Liam finishes his salad and the twins just about hit the half-way mark on their own food, there’s a knock on the door.

The twins begin squirming in their seats. “Hey, sit tight and eat your lunches,” Liam instructs, laughing at the absurdity of their overly excited faces. “I’ll get the door.” The twins grumble but stay in their chairs, picking at their food.

Liam heads to the front door, which is in the living room. When he pushes it open, he’s so thankful to see familiar faces.

Out of relief, Liam rushes forward and throws his arm around both of them. “Whoa,” Isaac says. “I know it’s been a little while since you’ve seen us, but don’t kill us.”

“At least, not while our kids are watching,” Scott jokes.

Liam releases them, but can’t help his overwhelming smile. “It’s just really, really good to see you guys,” he says, with a laugh. Even though their older, and Scott’s hair is beginning to salt and pepper, and Isaac’s eyes have crow’s feet (probably from worrying so much), and they’re both in wool coats and mittens and snow boots, it’s still them. And since Liam lost almost twenty years of his life… that means Isaac and Scott have been together for over twenty years.

It’s the best realization he’s come to all day.

Isaac grumbles but Scott grins. They both step inside and behind them comes what Liam can only assume is their children.

One is a preteen boy, with Scott’s olive skin and sunny smile, and somehow has Isaac’s curly hair. The other is a smaller boy, no older than seven, with fair skin and curly blonde hair, but dark brown eyes. They’re somehow both the perfect combination of Scott and Isaac. Liam just blinks at them until the older boy smiles and runs to hug him, the smaller boy following suit. “Uncle Liam, Uncle Liam!” the little one says, and Liam smiles, more at Scott and Isaac, who stand off to the side, grinning.

“Uh, hey, guys,” he says, because he’s not quite sure what to call them.

“Alright, alright, let the poor man go, it’s been a long day.” The two kids immediately disperse at Isaac’s words and step back, still smiling brightly. “Why don’t you go find your cousins?”

Oh, right. “Well, they’re eating right now, but you’re welcome to go sit with them.” Both children nod, then make their way out to the kitchen. He hears the twins cry out “Chris” and “John,” probably the names of the boys.

After a few moments, Liam realizes he’s supposed to play host. A role he’s not used to since Isaac’s been playing it for so long. “Uh, would you like to sit?” he asks, and Isaac smiles.

Both make their way over to the couch while Liam steps off to the armchair on the side. “Well, we can’t stay for too long,” Scott says, as they sit anyway. “But we wanted to drop by and say we were coming on Saturday.”

Liam blinks. “Saturday?” he asks.

Scott laughs. “Yeah, to the party?” he says. Oh. Apparently, Stiles and Liam were the kind of couple that threw parties.

“By the way, Jordan, Derek, and Katherine are coming late, but they’re coming,” Isaac promises. “And they’re bringing the dog.”

Katherine? That was their mom’s name. Jordan named his daughter Katherine? “Which I heard will be good practice,” Scott says, with a devious smile. Liam just frowns at him. “Sorry, Stiles told me.”

Stiles? “About?”

“The puppy,” Scott says, in a whisper.

Puppy? Liam pretends to shake himself. “Right, duh,” he says, laughing. “The puppy. I’m totally blanking today, sorry.” He looks back and forth between them, then to the thing in Isaac’s hand, and he frowns. “So, you guys came over here just to RSVP?”

They look at each other. “Uh, no, actually,” Isaac says. He even sounds a little nervous, which surprises Liam because it’s not an often occurrence. He stands and leans over to hand Liam the thing in his hands – it’s an old, leather book. He turns it over to the front cover, where a heart is carved in. “It’s just – I know we usually don’t give out presents until we’re all together, but we just wanted to give this one to you privately, because I didn’t really know how’d you react.”

Liam flips it open. It starts with a picture that looks fairly recent – Stiles and Liam push the twins on swings, crisp leaves falling all around them. They all look very familial; Stiles is laughing, his hands on Jordan’s back as he pushes him, and Liam’s looking at Stiles and grinning. At the bottom, in a quick and clipped handwriting he knows as Scott's, is written _The Stilinski-Dunbars, 2016._ Which officially means it's fifteen years into his future.

As he flips through the pages, the story goes backward – he passes the twins’ first day of preschool, then their birth, then pictures taken when Stiles and Liam moved into the house. Pictures of Liam at art shows. Stiles in sunglasses, posing ridiculously. Liam on a picnic blanket, laughing. Pictures of what looks like Hawaii? He’s always wanted to go.

He stops abruptly when he reaches their wedding.

Pictures of Stile’s wedding party – Scott, Lydia, Allison, Malia, and Boyd all stand, in black tuxes and dresses, with their arms around Stiles. And of course, pictures of Liam’s: Isaac, Jordan, Derek, Mason, and – is that Brett Talbot? Mason would have a fit if he knew Brett Talbot ended up being one of Liam’s closest friends. He turns the page and blinks. Mason would also have a fit if he knew Brett Talbot ended up being Mason’s husband, too.

There’s more pictures – Lydia and Allison slow dancing, Mason making his best man speech, Liam holding a little boy, probably Isaac’s and Scott’s son, and dancing. But the one that catches his eye is one of him and Stiles.

Stiles has a piece of cake and a mischievous glint in his eye, and Liam is midway through what looks like a very fond eye roll. That looks more like him and Stiles than anything. He smiles a little; it’s a reflection of the relationship they had as kids, even if he couldn’t appreciate it then. Fond teasing and stubbornly hidden appreciation. In fact, he’s never missed it so much as he does now.

Past the wedding are pictures of them (or at least Liam) in college: Liam hanging around Stiles’ neck, Stiles kissing Liam’s jaw. Liam flipping off the camera. Stiles, in that stupid MIT sweatshirt. Liam’s graduation, Stiles in sunglasses and a visor and a t-shirt that says “That’s My Boyfriend!” Both of them dancing at what Liam guesses is his own prom.

When he gets to the last page, he recognizes the picture as having been taken at his own home. It must’ve happened not long after he left; the Christmas tree in the background is the same one he knows is sitting there now. There are gifts all around, and various parts of various people can be seen in the background. The focus of the photo, though, is, unsurprisingly, Stiles and himself. Stiles has his head tucked into the crook of Liam’s neck. The Liam in the picture – the seventeen-year-old Liam he thinks of as himself – sits there, grinning and stroking Stiles’ hair. He looks… happy. And hopeful.

Liam closes the book and inhales sharply. “Wow,” he says. “Thank you, guys.”

He looks up to see both Isaac and Scott smiling warmly. “No problem,” Scott says. “We noticed you didn’t have any albums, so we started one for you.”

“Show it to Stiles when he gets home,” Isaac says. “He’ll flip.”

“You sure you can’t stay ‘til he gets home?”

Scott shakes his head and goes to answer, but there’s another knock at the door.

Putting the book down on the chair, Liam stands to answer it. When he does, two blurs of red fly past him. “Hi, Uncle Liam!” they say as they go, running towards the kitchen.

In the doorway, Lydia rolls her eyes. “Sorry about that, Liam,” she says. “Can we come in?” 

He nods and steps aside, lets Lydia and Allison enter. They don’t look much different. Allison’s hair is cut a little shorter, and Lydia’s lipstick is a few shades darker, but neither has changed very much. In her arms, Lydia is holding a crockpot with a delicious smell wafting from within it. In _her_ arms, Allison is holding possibly the world’s smallest baby. “We just stopped by to drop off Ally’s world-famous pulled pork for Saturday,” she says. Allison rolls her eyes, but blushes. “I’ll just go put it in the kitchen, make sure the girls aren’t getting into trouble.” She turns to go but sees Scott and Isaac and grins. “Hey guys!” They both wave before she heads towards the kitchen. “Victoria!” she calls. “Natalie! We can’t stay!”

Meanwhile, all three men have gathered around Allison. “Ugh, baby Kate gets bigger and bigger every time I see her,” Scott whispers in awe, watching the sleeping baby on Allison’s shoulder.

Allison grins. “Yeah, well, you should see her when she’s awake. Only four months old and already acting like she’s fourteen.”

Isaac hums. “Similar sounding numbers,” he says with a shrug. “I’d get confused too.”

The baby stirs and all three men back away, almost as if afraid to set off a bomb. Allison laughs. “Relax,” she says. “You three act like you’ve never been around babies before in your lives.”

Well, Scott and Isaac have. But Liam hasn’t.

Lydia comes back out, rolling her eyes. “They want to visit their cousins for a little bit, so I’m giving them five minutes,” she says. Then Allison widens her eyes, and Lydia winces and turns to Liam. “If that’s alright with you.”

Liam waves it off. “Yeah, it’s fine. They were just eating lunch.”

“They finished,” she assures. “Now Natalie, Chris, and Jordan are all gathered around a DS, and Victoria is playing referee to a thrilling game of red hands between John and Claudia.”

In the same moment, Allison snorts and Isaac groans. “Last time John played red hands, things got violent,” he says. Liam and Lydia blink at him. “Babe, we should probably get going.”

Scott nods. “I’ll go wrangle the kids,” he says, before turning to go to the kitchen.

When he’s out of sight, Isaac turns back and frowns. “Sorry about that,” he says. “But you know seven-year-olds. They’re a pain in the neck.”

So John is the younger one. “Agreed,” Allison says, sighing. “I can’t believe that was only three years ago for Victoria and Natalie.”

“Five years for Chris,” Isaac says. “We’re still waiting for him to grow out of the pain in the neck phase.” The other parents laugh. “Sorry, though, for leaving so soon.”

Both women wave him off. “We have to go, like, now anyway,” Lydia says. “We just dropped by to drop off the pork, then we have to go right to a Girl Scout meeting, then to piano practice, then pick them both up and go to archery.” She sighs. “It’s a long Christmas break.”

Just then, all of the kids come racing out to the living room. Chris and John follow Scott, the twin girls flank their mothers, and Claudia and Jordan come thumping into Liam’s legs, much like earlier.

“Ready to go?” Lydia asks, petting back the hair of the girl nearest to her. The girl pouts but concedes with a nod. The other girl just leans her head against Allison’s shoulder with a tired sigh.

Speaking of tired, his twins look exhausted. As if reading his mind, Claudia yawns and says, “Daddy, it's nap time.”

He looks down at them and then up at the adults, who look amused. "Sorry," he says, sheepishly. 

At once, all four adults wave him off. "I know the feeling," Isaac jokes.

“That’s that then,” Scott says. “We’ll get out of your hair and we’ll see you Saturday.”

Liam shrugs and watches as they let themselves out, all calling out their goodbyes as they head off to their prospective cars, their feet crunching in the snow. As soon as they’re all safely inside their cars and have driven off, Liam shuts the door and sighs. “Okay,” he says. “Nap?” They both nod. “Nap it is.”

\--

Both twins lay down for their nap, and about a half an hour in when he’s done reading all the children’s books on the shelves, Liam takes the opportunity to go poking around. He starts with the downstairs – he’s seen the kitchen, the living room, and the dining room. But what’s the rounded room just underneath his?

He opens it up to find another study, this one painted bright yellow. It’s lined with bookshelves and corkboards with strings and pictures attached, and up against the wall is a desk. It takes everything he has not to snoop – so he gives up and snoops anyway.

The desk is messy, but in a way, he assumes, Stiles understands. There are newspaper clippings everywhere and random post-it notes – they say things like “Liam cake” or “bird tree?” and have yet to make any kind of sense to Liam. He runs his fingers over the chips in the wood of the desk and sighs. What is it gonna take for him to figure out what Stiles _does_?

Just then, there’s a little ding on the computer. Liam jumps but, after a moment’s hesitation, clicks on it. It’s an email that just says, “Your article has been published!” Wait. Is Stiles a reporter?

Stiles is a reporter.

He’s pretty sure he’s heard Isaac mention Stiles writing, once or twice. Like in a contest or something. But he never took it seriously.

Then again, Liam never really took Stiles seriously period. Maybe that was a mistake.

All the sudden, the room seems far too quiet. He leaves it, just the way he found it and heads upstairs to check out the last room he knows he hasn’t looked at yet.

The door across from his study squeaks as he pushes it open, and he distantly thinks, _we should oil that_. It’s a weirdly domestic thought. He ignores it in favor of looking around. The room is a master bedroom – it’s painted beige, with beautiful hardwood floor and green and blue décor. It’s beautiful. It’s his.

He crosses the room, sits on the bed, pats down on the comforter – it really is nice. He wonders if he or Stiles decorated the house. Maybe they did it together?

The bed is in the middle of the room, pushed all the way to the wall across from the door. There’s a few cabinets, mostly with pictures and miniature paintings, and a few figurines that he guesses are Stiles’. He stands and wanders over, puts his hand up to the glass where one picture is behind it. It’s their wedding picture, he thinks. They’re standing together, Stiles in a black tux with a pink carnation, and Liam in a white one with the same flower attached to his lapel. Liam’s always hated wedding pictures; his parents’, Mason’s parents’, even Jordan and Derek’s. They’ve always looked fake to him, where the couple stands close and looks at the camera with cheesy smiles.

But this one… This one is different. Stiles is grinning, like he just finished telling the world’s dumbest joke and he’s proud of it. It doesn’t surprise him. What does surprise him is that he’s leaning on Stiles, laughing, with his eyes closed. Like he thinks it’s funny. Like he knows him. Like he loves him.

Like maybe he didn’t know Stiles as well as he thought he did.

Nervously, he steps back. Somehow, Liam managed to misjudge the person he would one day marry, for a very large portion of his life. But how? How did he misread years and years of teasing, taunting, and terrorizing?

This is too much. He needs to go back home.

He steps over to the wardrobe and opens it up. Socks, underwear. He moves onto the next drawer. Then the next, and then the next. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for until he actually finds it.

The MIT sweatshirt. Alive and well.

He holds it up to his nose and inhales. The smell is comforting – it smells like home. Like the winter carnival and the Jeep and carne a la tampiqueña. He wonders when the last time Stiles wore it was.

Then he hears a voice: “Well, if you missed me, Li, you didn’t have to go huffing my clothes. You could have just called.”

He turns to see Stiles, leaning up against the door and smirking. Liam laughs and rolls his eyes, then leans down to put the sweatshirt away and shut the drawer. “Shut up,” he says.

“You know, I never really understood your thing for that sweatshirt,” Stiles says.

Liam raises his eyebrows. “I have a thing?” he asks.

“ _Please_. That sweatshirt drove you crazy. Not to mention, you would always steal it.”

Sounds about right. But Liam just scoffs. “Whatever,” he says, but he’s still smiling despite himself. 

After a brief but comfortable pause, Stiles points to something above him. “Did I ever tell you how much I’m in love with that painting?”

Liam glances up. Above the wardrobe is a painting of the bottom half of a face. It has full lips and an upturned nose and tan skin. In the corner is Liam’s signature. “It’s alright,” he says, shrugging. But that same surge of pride from before washes over him anyway.

Stiles scoffs and crosses his arms. “Excuse me, I happen to like the artist who painted that very much,” he says. “In fact, did I ever tell you the story of how I got him back into painting?”

Involuntarily, Liam blurts out, “Really?”

Grinning, Stiles shrugs. “I _happened_ to be on a date with him one night, and he got a little drunk. Told me all about how he wanted to go to art school, as a pipe dream. That was, of course, after he told me how pretty I was.” Liam feels himself blushing. Stupid fair complexion. “So I applied for him.”

Oh, God. He’s happy with the outcome, of course, but he can only imagine how that went over. “Bet he was pissed off,” Liam says.

He isn’t surprised when Stiles nods. “You have no idea,” Stiles says. “But as his boyfriend, I couldn’t stand by and let him _not_ follow his dreams. His art was beyond impeccable, and I loved him too much to have him be miserable for the rest of our lives.”

 _Our lives._ Liam swallows. “You convinced me to go?” he asks.

Stiles snorts. “Listen, kiddo. You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. Convincing you to go was the hardest I’ve ever worked in my life. Well, besides on the proposal.” Stiles proposed? Stiles proposed. “Keeping that from you, especially with your talkative asshole of a brother? That was rough. But anyway, if I didn’t get you go to that school, the world wouldn’t have Liam Dunbar: Professional Artist. And look at your art. It’s amazing, Li.”

His cheeks warm again as he searches for something to say. The first thing to come to his mind is, _I’m guessing it’s hard not to be good with you as my muse._ But he doesn’t say that. Instead, he says, “I have to wake the twins from their nap.”

“Do you want to do dinner then?” Stiles suggests, and Liam nods. He’s glad that he doesn’t acknowledge Liam’s train wreck attempt at a change in topic. “We can order pizza, play a game, then call it an early night?”

Strangely enough, nothing sounds better. “Perfect,” he says.

\--

The kids happily munch on their pizza, then just as happily play Candy Land one, two, three times with Stiles and Liam. The twins win every time. (“Laudie. Jordan. You’re _killing_ me here.” “Stiles.” “I have been stuck on a licorice space more times than I can count.” “ _Stiles._ ” “No, Li, I’m serious! I think our kids are super geniuses. It’s the only explanation as to why they keep kicking our butts.”) Then, after a few large melodramatic yawns and an equally melodramatic insistence upon staying awake, both twins kiss their fathers and head upstairs to bed. Stiles is quick to follow, insisting he'll tuck them in while Liam cleans up.

After they’re gone, and Liam is cleaning up the pieces to the world’s weirdest board game, the house is eerily quiet. He finds it apt that he gets some time to reflect. When the day began, he thought it would be harder to come to terms that this Stiles is the Stiles he knows so well. But when he looks closer, it's not. Sure, he's a little gentler and a lot more grown up than he was fifteen, twenty years ago. But it's still easy to see that this man is still Stiles Stilinski inside - proud, stubborn, awkward, sarcastic, witty, loyal, protective. And the rhythm between them is still familiar, if a little more affectionate than before. It's smooth, it's comfortable. And Liam gets the feeling that, in the future, he's happy. Stiles makes him happy.

"What's up, hot stuff?"

He manages not to jump, but only just. He looks up to see Stiles leaning on the bannister, having returned from putting the kids to bed. "Holy crap," he mutters. Then he goes about what he was doing, puts the lid on the Candyland box with satisfying ease. "You scared the crap out of me."

Stiles grins and wiggles his eyebrows. There's a brief pause where Liam puts the box back under the coffee table and Stiles sighs happily. “Well, we’re alone,” he says. “What do you want to do?”

Liam swallows. He’s been thinking about this – about Stiles possibly wanting to do more than just sleep next to him tonight. And though it’s not as if either of them are virgins – he assumes that Stiles has, at least, done it once before, and Liam had been with boys and girls. But he didn’t really want his first time with Stiles to… not be his first time with Stiles. So what did he want to do? “Sleep,” he says, honestly, and Stiles laughs.

“Maybe it means we’re getting old, but you’re right.” He stands and offers his hand to Liam, who takes it and stands with him. He smiles. “Come on, let’s go.”

\--

After Liam, Stiles heads into the bathroom while Liam pulls off his clothes. He rifles through the drawers until he finds sweatpants that look about his size and puts them on. He’s about to head straight to bed when he thinks twice and reaches into another drawer. In seconds, he’s pulled on the MIT sweatshirt. The sleeves are so long that they come over his arms, and though it’s probably tight on Stiles now, it fits him around the torso nicely. He balls the ends of the sleeves up in his fist and frowns, thinking of the carnival. What he wouldn’t give to go back and fix what he said to Stiles.

Once he comes back in, Stiles laughs. “You and that sweatshirt,” he says. Then he pads over to the bed and climbs in, pulling the covers up around his waist. When Liam pauses, a moment of slight hesitation, Stiles smiles and pats the spot behind him. “Come on, Li. Not gonna bite.” He pauses, then winks. “You know, unless you ask me to.”

That’s familiar. Liam rolls his eyes. “Dork,” he mutters, before lifting the covers and crawling in next to him. He pauses and, despite himself, curls up next to Stiles and puts an arm over his stomach. It probably isn’t a good idea. But Liam’s stopped caring.

Stiles reaches over to turn the light off. “Wait,” Liam says, and Stiles stops, reels backward and looks down at him in concern. “Tell me a story?” he asks, and Stiles snorts.

“About what?”

Liam pauses in consideration, as if he doesn’t know what he’s about to ask. “About us.”

At that, Stiles grins. “Settle in,” he says. “This is a long one. But it has a happy ending, I promise.”

As Liam shifts closer, Stiles begins. “Once upon a time,” he says, “there was a very small pervert.”

“Hey,” Liam interrupts. “Don’t call me small.”

But Stiles waves him off, laughing. “Listen to the story, man,” he says. “It gets better.” Liam grumbles but lets it go. “Anyway, there was a very small pervert named Stiles. He lived with his dad in a castle – if a castle meant a two-bedroom dump down the street from his school. So Stiles lived with his dad and, because he was a little bit of an asshole, didn’t really have a lot of friends. And then he met two very valiant and gay knights named Isaac and Scott and somehow became their very good friend. Now, they did not know this at the time, but they had just signed a contract to be friends with the pervert forever. A mistake on their part.” He clears his throat. “That is when Sir Isaac introduced Stiles to his little brother. His name was Liam.

“Now, little Stiles was an asshole, as mentioned. And as an asshole, he wasn’t very self-aware. So when he saw Liam, he thought, ‘I somehow have to get this kid’s attention.’ So he kicked sand in his face. He did not realize, at the time, that this was a very gay thought, and would be called a ‘crush’ in the eyes of other children, and kicking sand in his face was not the most normal course of action.”

Oh. So that’s why he kicked sand in Liam’s face. Liam opens his mouth to say something, but Stiles continues. “So, the sand happens. Skip forward about… nine years? In the nine-year interim, Stiles does many things similar to the sand in face incident. Pranking, teasing. All kinds of stuff like that. Because he was definitely an attention whore, but he just needed _this_ specific kid’s attention. The kid, conversely, was pretty stubborn. He would turn his nose up and ignore Stiles and call him a bully. He’s doing pretty well at giving Stiles exactly the opposite of what he wants and, Stiles, a determined little guy, just did more stupid stuff. Then, Liam turns fourteen. Stiles is already sixteen at this point, and so are Scott and Isaac, who had just begun to date at that time. So when Stiles and Scott want to hang out with Isaac, and Isaac says he can’t because of his little brother’s birthday party, Scott suggests that he and Stiles come help out. To which Stiles vehemently protested, but showed up anyway.

“So Stiles and Scott show up, and Liam’s birthday party is happening, with Mason and Hayden and all the other little ones running around, and it’s eventually time to sing happy birthday. And they light all the candles and turn the lights off. And there is little Liam, Isaac’s little brother, with his face all angular and beautiful and mouth very kissable, and Stiles just thinks, _Oh no_.”

When he was _fourteen_? Which means Stiles had liked him for a pretty long time. Though he wants to interrupt, he can’t quite find the words to do so. So he just blinks and allows Stiles to go on. “So that was when Stiles tried vehement denial,” he says. “He bought up on busty magazines, he talked up women, he dated Lydia…”

“You dated Lydia?!” Liam interrupts. He doesn’t mean to, it just surprises him.

Stiles laughs. “Alright, now you’re the asshole,” he says. “I’m sorry that my gayness took a longer time to form than yours, but Lydia and I did very well at covering up our romance, thank you very much. If I didn’t like you enough to tell you, you would have never known.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “I would have found out,” he mutters.

“True,” Stiles admits, shrugging. “You’re good like that.”

“Anyway, three years go by, and Stiles is now fully committed to being very openly gay. He’s told his dad and his friends and even his ex-boyfriend.” Liam laughs a little. “But anyway, he never told the one person he ever really needed to hear it. So, he goes to his house, takes him and his best friend to the fair, and drops all the defenses and fesses up. Then he puts his foot in his mouth and ruins it, and the love of his life very justly tells him that he’s been an asshole.”

After today, it’s not like he exactly feels good about that. “Sorry,” he whispers.

But Stiles shakes his head. “Never be sorry about that day,” he says. “That was the best day of my life.”

How? But Liam assumes he’ll find out – one day.

For a while, Stiles is silent. Liam feels sleep pulling him under, curled up next to Stiles in their big house with their kids. A place where Liam is an artist – an actual artist, successfully. A place where Stiles has stepped out of the role of an asshole and into that of a loving husband. A place where Liam feels okay.

“The end?” Liam asks, closing his eyes.

He more feels Stiles laugh than hears him. “Nah,” he says. “The beginning.”

\--

When he wakes, he wakes with a start, and finds himself slumped over in an uncomfortable wicker chair. Though the shop had seemed a lifetime away when he was wrapped around Stiles, he recognizes it instantly. The dark room with the chair and the magic ball is still flooded with light from the room outside, and he stands up and scrambles out. “Deaton?” he calls. “Deaton?”

Turning about, he doesn’t see the shopkeeper anywhere. “Do you see what I mean by facing the rain?” Liam turns to see Deaton sitting at the table, drinking another cup of tea and smiling. It’s almost as if it appeared out of nowhere again – and at this point, Liam might believe that it had. “You just needed to see the rainbow.”

Liam raises his eyebrows. “You set all that up?” he asks.

Deaton shrugs. “I do what I can,” he says. “When people come into my shop, they’re most certainly drawn to what they need to see. You happened to need to see the future. The Make Happy is good for that sort of thing.”

Slowly, Liam gathers himself, his brows furrowed. Suddenly, something occurs to him. He brings his right hand up to his sightline. The ugly, angry cut from before was gone. “But how did you know that I – ”

“Some things can’t be explained, Liam,” Deaton says, cutting in. “Like people changing, or feelings developing, or me knowing the moment you walked in that you’d already found your true love. You just needed a nudge in the right direction.” He drinks from his cup, then sighs and puts it down. “There’ll be days in the future that you’ll doubt this all even happened. Days you’ll think that I wasn’t even real.”

In that moment, Liam blurts out, “ _Was_ any of this real?”

Slowly, Deaton smiles again. “It’s exactly as real as you’ll need it to be,” he says. The twinkle in his eye reappears, and he winks. “But that’s the future.” He looks to the window and nods. “And right now, I think there’s someone outside who’s waiting to see you.”

With a quick glance outside, Liam offers a wide smile before running for the door. He sprints outside and slams into someone, his whole body hitting the other person upon impact. “Holy crap,” Stiles says loudly, trying to be heard over the roar of the rain. It hits them both full on, as they don’t have umbrellas or hoods. Liam doesn’t care too much, and from the way that Stiles is totally concentrated on him, he’s guessing he shares the feeling. “Liam, you scared the shit out of me.”

Liam looks up at him, and can’t help it when he smiles. “Hi!” he yells back.

He should probably be a little concerned that Stiles looks annoyed, but he’s too busy trying to count every mole on his neck to notice. “You can’t just run off like that, man!” he says. “What if you had died or gotten lost or abducted or something? Isaac would have pinned that on me!”

All of it sounds like a boy annoyed with a little brother figure, but there’s a tinge to his voice that makes Liam think it’s something else. Something like worry, something like thankfulness. Unfortunately, Liam can’t stop smiling stupidly enough to analyze it. “Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

That makes Stiles blink, confused. “O-okay,” he says. Then he sighs and looks off to the side, away from Liam. “Look, I’m sorry if I offended you before, in the car? But I’d like us to just forget about the whole thing.”

“Why?” Liam asks. There Stiles goes, doing that whole confused blinking thing again. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

They’re standing so close now that he can see Stiles swallow. “W-what?” he asks. “What do you mean?”

Liam just smiles bigger and brighter. “I get it now,” he says. “I didn’t know what you meant before, but now, I get it.”

Before Stiles can undoubtedly ask what he “gets,” Liam reaches forward and balls the MIT sweatshirt up in his fist and pulls. Stiles leans down and Liam leans up (possibly on his tiptoes, even if it’s a little embarrassing). Their mouths meet halfway and clash when they get there. This time, it doesn’t taste like coffee, and Liam doesn’t pull back and scrunch up his nose. And there aren’t kids and they aren’t in the kitchen of their big house and Stiles isn’t headed to work.

This time, they’re standing on a darkened street, rain pouring down like Noah’s readying the ark. Liam reaches up and pulls Stiles as close as possible, wrapping his arms around his neck and not planning to let go. They’re slick with the rain coming down, which makes it a little messy. But really, Liam doesn’t mind.

It’s still perfect.

After a while, Stiles pulls back. His eyebrows are scrunched and he looks confused, but a little happy too, and damn it if Liam doesn’t find it cute. “I get it now,” he whispers again. But this time, it comes out like a whisper. Like a thunderstorm reduced to a gust of wind.

Stiles leans down and kisses him again. It makes him think he wouldn’t mind working for that future.

\--

It rains all through the night. They pick up Mason (who excitedly tells Liam that he got Brett’s phone number, and Liam beams and says he hopes that it works out) from the carnival and then drop him off at home.

They stay in Stiles’ Jeep a lot longer than they need to, making out and talking. (And mostly making out, when Liam has anything to say about it.) Stiles asks him if this is really something that he wants, which Liam finds weirdly endearing. (Stiles doesn’t need to know that, though; Liam rolls his eyes and answers, “Duh.”) Then he asks Liam that they don’t tell anyone about it, at least not for a while until they’re sure about each other. (Liam says he’s already sure, and Stiles blushes and ducks his head. The next morning, Isaac will pull them aside, tell them congratulations, and sincerely thank them for getting together during his week in the pool. Apparently, Lydia and Scott owe him and Derek some serious money.) Then they come in, Scott is awake and asks them if they had a good time. (Liam, who’s discreetly holding Stiles’ hand under the kitchen table, says “definite yes.” Stiles mumbles an incoherent answer and looks away, fighting off another blush.) Liam goes to bed. (Within the hour, Stiles sneaks upstairs to lay next to him.)

When morning comes, the storm finally having blown over, he’s awoken with a kiss to the side of his neck. “Morning,” Stiles says, and Liam grumbles sleepily. Stiles laughs a little, then nudges him and points to the window. “Look.”

Liam looks out to see the world’s biggest rainbow. He nearly cries laughing.


End file.
